Mark Anthony - Kindred Spirits

Sometimes Flint would take a break from the smoky heat of the forge and come sit on the wall, pulling the clean air into his lungs as he dangled his stumpy legs over the edge. The grove of trees across the meadow tended to make him think of his journey from Solace, through the forest of Qualinesti, and once again he found himself wondering if he shouldn’t be on the road soon. These days are bright and warm, Flint, he told himself, but sure as steel is strong, winter’s just around the corner. And while I wouldn’t doubt its touch is a mild one here within these woods, in the rest of the world that won’t be the case, and if you were fool enough to try, you’d be frozen clean through long before you ever reached Solace.

But there always seemed to be one more thing he had to do before he could possibly consider leaving. He had promised the Lady Selena an entire set of goblets, crafted to look like the gilded blooms of tulips. Those alone had taken him a fortnight of work, but when they were finished, he found himself hurrying to fashion a pair of intricate wedding bands he had promised a young noble anxious to court an elf maiden. And then the captain of the Speaker’s guard stepped through the door of the shop, despairing of the balance of his long sword, which he claimed the elven smiths had had no luck in correcting. The problem was so obvious to Flint’s eye-the decorative handguard on the hilt had thrown the balance completely off-that he would’ve thought a good bit less of himself if he hadn’t agreed to help. Sure as his beard kept growing, the tasks kept coming.

Other than a new set of clothes, compliments of the Speaker, Flint looked hardly different from the day he had first set foot in Qualinost, with his dark hair tied behind his neck and his bushy beard tucked neatly into his belt. However, he had traded his heavy, iron-soled boots for a pair made of soft gray leather, and although his feet were still twice as big as any elf’s, at least his footsteps didn’t sound quite as much like thunder now.

And his clothes… Green wasn’t Flint’s usual color, but the tailor the Speaker had sent to him four days ago had clucked his tongue and shaken his head at the rust-colored wool Flint had picked out for his new autumn outfit. The old elf insisted on emerald green, but Flint protested that it was too gaudy. However, when Flint finally tried it on, the old tailor clapped his hands.

“It’s definitely you, Master Fireforge,” he had declared.

“You think so?” Flint had asked, scowling at himself in the polished silver mirror.

“Indeed,” the tailor responded firmly. “You look positively dashing.”

“You do, Flint,” Tanis had said from his seat in a corner.

Dashing? Flint had thought, looking at his reflection critically, and then he grinned at himself. “Well, maybe I do, at that,” he said. Tanis laughed.

Now, the half-elf, brownish red hair bouncing, sprinted around the corner of Flint’s beetle-browed shop-made more squatty-looking by the contrast with nearby elven homes.

“Lucky me. Company,” Flint snorted, though he smiled all the same. “Where’s that imp Laurana? I’m surprised she didn’t drag you off to play some noisy game or some such.”

“She tried,” Tanis said. He plucked two apples off a laden tree, tossed the better one to Flint, found a comfortable spot on the wall, and leaned back and closed his eyes, letting the sunlight fall on his eyelids. With a start, Flint realized that despite the slightly pointed ears and the faint slant to his eyes, Tanis looked very much like a human child at the moment. It made the dwarf think of Solace again, and a twinge of homesickness gripped him.

“I didn’t feel like a game, not today,” Tanis resumed. “Besides, Gilthanas was with her, and I don’t think he wanted me to join in.” He opened his eyes.

“Bah,” Flint said, tossing his apple core over his shoulder and wiping his hands on his beard. “I’m sure Laurana’s brother doesn’t feel that way.”

Tanis said seriously, turning toward the dwarf, “He doesn’t want to have anything to do with me anymore. I always thought he was like my own brother, but now all he seems to want to do is follow Porthios around like a puppy. And Porthios certainly never acted like my brother.”

A shadow passed over the half-elf’s rugged features. Flint sighed and laid one of his strong, calloused hands on Tanis’s shoulder. “Now, lad,” he said softly, if gruffly, “there’s no telling why folk do what they do sometimes. But don’t hold it against him. I’m sure it will all work out.”

“I’ve got a pretty good idea why he’s been acting that way,” Tanis said, but didn’t elaborate. And Flint, sensing that there were areas in the half-elf’s life in which he needed his privacy, said nothing. Of course, Flint had wormed the tale of the Porthios-Tanis match out of Laurana-only the gods knew where she’d found it out-but the dwarf had forgone mentioning his knowledge to his new friend.

They basked in the sun for a time, and eventually Tanis asked Flint to tell him more about the outside world and of Solace. It was a common theme. The boy couldn’t seem to get enough of such tales.

“But then what did you do after the four highwaymen had knocked out the guards?” Tanis asked him. Flint was relating the tale of the day a band of brigands had stirred up trouble in the Inn of the Last Home.

“Well, I’ll tell you, lad, it was looking dark. So I hefted my hammer in my hand-” He grabbed a stray stick firmly for emphasis-”and then I… er… and then I…” Flint was suddenly conscious of Tanis’s shining eyes gazing at him.

“And then you what, Flint?” Tanis asked excitedly. “You did battle with all four at once?”

“Well, er, not exactly,” Flint said. Somehow this all sounded better when he told it after a few tankards of ale. “You see, there was this stray mug on the floor, and, well, it being dark, and, mind you, I wasn’t watching my feet…”

“You tripped,” Tanis said, a smile lighting his face.

“I most certainly did not trip!” Flint fairly roared. “I feinted, and my hammer caught the leader of the brigands square in the forehead, just like that.” He smacked a half-rotted apple with the stick. The apple exploded in a juicy spray, and Tanis got the rather graphic point.

“That’s wonderful!” Tanis said, and Flint snorted as if it were nothing.

“Sometimes I wish I had been born in Solace,” Tanis said softly then, looking off into the distance, to the north, where he knew Solace lay. He tossed the apple core away, and bid Flint farewell for the day.

True to the hopeful words the Speaker had uttered when the dwarf had first arrived in Qualinost, Flint and the Speaker had become unlikely friends during the course of the past months. Half a year ago, had anyone told Flint he would find himself companion to the elven lord of Qualinesti, he would have bought the fellow a tankard for telling such an uproarious joke. Although there seemed a world of difference between the tall, regal elf lord and the short, uncomplicated dwarf, each had an openness in his point of view that made bridging the gap a simple step.

And so Flint had found himself walking through the palace gardens side by side with the Speaker, talking of distant lands and ages, or sitting at the Speaker’s right at a courtly dinner. There were grumbles from some of the courtiers, of course, but Flint discovered from whom Porthios and Laurana had inherited their stubbornness.

In recent weeks, especially, Flint had grown as close to So-lostaran as he had to Tanis. The Speaker’s ceremonial guards, each wearing a breastplate decorated with the emblem of the Sun and the Tree wrought in silver filigree, didn’t bother to stop him at the Speaker’s anteroom at the Tower anymore. Rather, they greeted Flint with a grin and ushered him forward to knock on the door to the Speaker’s glass-walled anteroom. And the Speaker’s private servants had strict orders to keep the silver bowl on the Speaker’s desk filled with the dried fruits and glazed nuts that the dwarf favored. Today, the autumn sun streamed through the glass onto the new green rushes that had been strewn upon the floor, and the light in the room had a soft, heavy quality, like the light in a forest clearing.